Out of Time
by hazeleyes571
Summary: A crossover experiment,CSI with Dead Like Me. Grissom meets the mysterious Rube and gets the chance to find out if he has left it too late with Sara.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Dead Like Me and CSI are both trademarked products, characters used for unpaid fun.

Author: hazeleyes57

Rating: PG

A/N: It definitely helps if you have seen the series 'Dead like me' and understand the premise. In short, the grim reaper doesn't have time to do the whole job himself, so he has 'undead' to help him. They can be seen by the living, be touched, eat, drink and even be merry. They are assigned souls to collect by Rube (an excellent Mandy Patinkin), the father figure, who hands out post-it notes with the first initial, surname, place and time of death of the souls to be taken. 'George' played by Ellen Muth, is their latest (reluctant) recruit, a victim herself of an unfortunate death (hit by debris from the Mir space station, namely, a toilet seat).

Although this fic has character death, it's not in an angsty awful way, and on a personal note, it cheers me to see a positive view of the 'next step'.

**Out of Time**

The ER doctors worked on Sara as Grissom looked on. He turned a despairing face to Rube.

"She's going to make it, isn't she?"

Rube looked at him, seeing now what he had missed before the explosions. He transferred his attention to the dark haired woman lying on the medical gurney. Medical staff surrounded her, doing their best to keep her alive.

"You're the man of science. What do you think?"

Grissom looked on as the doctors tried to stem the bleeding from dozens of wounds peppering Sara's body. He refused to admit even to himself that it was unlikely that anyone so close to the epicentre of an explosion could survive.

"She has to live. I…she…is important to me."

Rube's half-smile was wry as he looked back from Sara to Grissom.

"So important that even now you can't say it, can you? What kind of love is that?"

Grissom was curiously unconcerned that this man knew how he felt about Sara. He continued to look at her, but spoke to Rube.

"Love. Such an abused word. 'I love pizza; I love my car'. What I feel is _more_. She is the better half of me." He shifted uneasily, the truth he had hidden from himself now revealed. "We…I thought we had more time. She said that I might figure it out too late. I needed more time..._just a little more time."_

This last came out as a whisper, but Rube heard.

"How long have you known her?"

Grissom half-smiled and shook his head slightly.

"Known her? I doubt I could claim to know Sara, but I first met her fifteen years ago. I have worked with her here in Vegas for five years."

Rube raised his eyebrows.

"How much more time did you need?"

Grissom glanced at him briefly; the irony was not lost on him.

"It was stupid, I know."

Rube nodded slowly.

"Yes, but we've all been stupid at some point. Makes us human. But, sadly, sometimes we don't get a second chance."

Both men were silent for a few minutes, an oasis of calm in a frenetic room. Grissom frowned as he absorbed Rube's words.

"Do I get another chance?"

Rube pointed to the next gurney along from Sara's. Grissom moved closer and looked at the patient. He was shocked to see his own bloodied face in front of him. He stared at the trauma staff around Sara. No one was attending to the person, no, to the _body_ on this gurney. He was oddly calm about his own death; perhaps he would get angry later. He looked over to Rube.

"So I'm dead?"

"Yes." Rube gave a single slow nod. "You ran out of time."

Grissom was silent for a moment, alone with his thoughts. He stirred, a little anger creeping into his voice.

"I ask you again. Does she make it?"

Rube was not unsympathetic. He looked at the floor for a time. He sighed. It wouldn't be the first time that he had bent the rules.

"I'm sorry."

Grissom struggled to get his words past the lump in his throat.

"Soon?"

Rube looked at his watch.

"Not long now."

Grissom moved closer to Sara's body – no, to _Sara_ and reached out to touch her face. His hand dissolved into white mist and reassembled when he withdrew it. The feeling was most strange.

The same strange feeling suddenly shot all the way through him as the trauma doctor behind him took a short cut through his non-body in order to reach for Sara's chest to start compressions. Reeling, Grissom could only look on in horror as they worked.

"_She's arrested! Hand me the defib!"_

Grissom stood helplessly by as they battled to save Sara's life. Never in his life had he felt so useless.

Rube laid a hand on his shoulder to try to turn him away from the young woman's gurney. Now that Grissom had acknowledged the news of his own death, he ought to be on his way to his afterlife.

Grissom angrily shook him off, then looked at him, vaguely surprised.

"How can you touch me and they can't?"

Rube shrugged.

"I don't make the rules. I just collect the souls."

Grissom looked at him sharply,his words sparking a memory.

"You touched me, before the explosion. You took my soul then?"

"Yes."

"And Sara's?"

Rube nodded to where George was sitting and waiting impatiently.

"No, George was assigned to Sara. We don't get to decide."

"Who does?"

Rube's expression was one of mild resignation. He thought that he might as well continue, having already said too much.

"Upper management. All I get is the list; first initial, surname, location and ETD."

Grissom gave him an odd look.

"You are given our time of death and a location, and yet you don't do anything to prevent it from happening?"

Rube shook his head, his voice pragmatic.

"Can't. If we didn't collect the souls, the body would still die, but the person would suffer the death, and go on with their journey as they were at the time of their death. If we saved the body, the soul would die inside and that, my friend, you pray you never see. George over there had a terrible death. Nothing of her body was bigger than could be held in two hands by the time they got to her. As it is, to us, she looks as she did while she was alive. Much more humane, don't you think?"

Shocked, Grissom could not find the words to tell him how horrendous it sounded.

Rube clapped him on the shoulder, irritating Grissom beyond measure.

"Come on, it's time now for you to go on with your journey."

Grissom looked at him with disgust as he shrugged off Rube's hand.

"I have no intention of going anywhere. I'm staying right here until I know what happens to Sara."

Rube's expression hardened into the paternal features that had chastised George on more than one occasion.

"You can't do that, you have to move on."

Grissom features set into the bland, solid immovability that had so often peeved Conrad Ecklie.

"Really? Just watch me. I'm a lapsed Catholic; maybe there isn't anything for me to 'go on' to. I'm staying here, until I see that Sara is alright."

Grissom turned his back on Rube and watched Sara's face.

Rube waited for a few moments, his face thoughtful as he regarded his reap. He moved to the other side of the large room where George was waiting. She was slumped, probably uncomfortably, in one of the plastic bucket seats so generic to hospital waiting areas. She looked at her mentor with an 'I told you so' expression.

"Refused?"

Rube nodded.

"For the moment."

George looked across to her 'reap'. Give them their due, the staff were really trying. She glanced at her watch and climbed to her feet. She had just started to move a little closer when the double doors of the ER opened to admit a woman and a young man, both obviously terrified at what they would find in this room, but trying to hide their fear.

"Catherine, I don't think we're allowed in - "

The woman rounded on him in her fear-fuelled anger, her kit case swinging wildly as she turned.

"Then you just GO, Greg. I'm not leaving until I see Grissom."

Greg's anxiety about his colleagues outweighed his fear of Catherine's ire and what he would find here. He stayed.

An ER nurse hurried over to try and prevent them from coming any closer, but Catherine was ready for her. She pointed to her ID.

"CSI crime Lab. We're here to process your patients before you destroy any usable evidence."

The Nurse had seen too many badges in her life to get overly excited about another one, but she did understand the need to collect evidence.

"Well, okay. You can start on the other one, he's over there."

The Nurse's almost careless wave in the direction of the solitary gurney told Catherine far more than she ever wanted to know. Her legs turned to water and her vision tunnelled, making the terrible scene retreat momentarily. She gulped air, ruthlessly shoving her personal feelings aside. She would not screw this up and ruin any chance at catching whoever was responsible for this. It would be her gift to Gil.

Grissom heard the commotion and saw Catherine's white face. Despite his fear for Sara, he wished he could spare Catherine this, wished that he could tell her that he was okay. He laughed mirthlessly. He was dead, but he was okay, how to explain that one?

He looked at Greg; sorry too that he wouldn't get to see this young man fulfil his potential. Grissom watched Catherine walk slowly towards his former self.

Her back to everyone else in the room, Catherine was unable to stop her eyes from filling. Sheer willpower prevented the salty drops from falling from her lashes as she braced herself for the task ahead. She placed her kit bag carefully on the floor and picked up her camera.

The first couple of photographs felt as though they were going to be shaky, but Catherine refused to let her grief take hold. She repeated the shots, trying to stay detached from the thought that this was the body of her co-worker, her mentor and her friend. She peeled the white sheet

down to Gil's – _the victim's_ – feet and snapped the necessary shots.

Greg was frozen to the floor, his feet unwilling or unable to take him to see what he did not want to see. To see it – _him_ – would make it real. The dull roaring in his ears drowned out the sounds of activity around him. Everything seemed to be moving very slowly as he turned instead to look in Sara's direction.

There was precious little comfort to be had there either. A scene in countless medical dramas, movies and documentaries was being played out in front of him, a scene both familiar and newly terrible. Sara had been stripped of her CSI jacket and her black pants. Her once white shirt lay ripped open and darkened with blood. In between the rushing bodies Greg glimpsed Sara's bloodied bra and irrationally wanted to rush over and cover her from prying eyes, to preserve her dignity while she could not.

Rube remained where he was as Grissom moved closer so that he could see Sara's face. Knowing what he knew now, he was grateful that Sara would not have to live with the scars that she would have had if she had survived. He also now saw the wisdom of Rube's words about the timing of a soul's collection. It would not have made any difference to his perception of Sara, she was always beautiful in his eyes, but it might have made a difference to her. Eternity is, after all, a long time.

"Sara? Sara, can you hear me?"

Grissom ignored the movement of medical staff around and through him, remaining steadfast at the head of Sara's gurney. He filtered out all extraneous sound, concentrating only on Sara.

_'300'_

_'Clear!'_

_Bodies step back, a dance often rehearsed. The whine of building power and the solid 'thump' of its discharge._

_Sara's body arches up in tetanic spasm and flops down again. The doctor holding the paddles glares at the flat line on the monitor,his thoughts obvious._

_Come on dammit, fight woman!_

_'350!'_

_'It's no good, her BP's falling, 70 over 40. She's crashing!'_

_'Not on my shift! 350 now!'_

_'Clear!'_

_Sara's response is reduced, her body not reacting so strongly this time to the shock._

Grissom leaned in.

"Sara, honey, it's okay. You can leave now, it's going to be alright."

Only a few feet away, Catherine had stopped what she was doing, unable to think about her job while the awful scene unfolded around her.

The flat line alarm continued its irritating sound, an audible testament to a terrible fact.

Sara was dead.

_'Okay, we're done. Call it.'_

_'Thanks everyone. Is anyone waiting? Family? '_

Grissom found curious comfort in the fact that he had died first. To have been alive and heard that Sara was dead would have destroyed him. He looked up and frowned as he saw Greg's devastated features.

Grissom turned to Rube, then nodded towards Greg and Catherine.

"Can't you tell them anything? Tell them it's okay?"

Rube shook his head, his expression implacable.

Across the room George stood up from the uncomfortable plastic seat and moved to stand beside her reap. Sara looked around in mild confusion, wondering how she had got here. The last thing she remembered was turning to hear what Grissom had been shouting about. She hadn't been able to make out what he was saying above the noise from the aftermath of the explosion. She saw Greg and Catherine and started to move towards them, until she spied Grissom over by the vic on the gurney. She veered towards him instead, relieved that he was okay too.

George dropped back, a brief nod from Rube halting her pursuit. She frowned at him in puzzlement, her face pulling a 'huh?' expression.

Grissom watched Sara walk towards him, her face alive with curiosity. It was as Rube had said, she was whole and unaffected.

"Hey, Gris, who died?"

Grissom shook his head wryly, his mouth hitched at one side. Before he had chance to answer, Sara looked past him to the bloodstained body beside him. Her jaw dropped.

"But that's...she looks like...Jeez, she looks just like me."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Dead Like Me and C.S.I. characters not owned by me, and are used without permission but without any intended infringement.

Author: hazeleyes57

Rating: R (eventually)

A.N. Sorry about the horrendous delay with chapter two. Trying to move house, the demands of work (grrr) and writer's block have played havoc with my life in the last few months. Thank you for your patience.

Having just seen the final episode of the season and THAT scene, this fic assumes that Grissom had not pursued anything implied by the scene.

**Out of Time**

"But that's...she looks like...Jeez, she looks just like me."

Sara's expression was one of puzzlement rather than shock; she was still sifting through her available information and piecing the facts together. She looked to Grissom for an explanation.

Grissom's glance flicked from Sara to Rube and back again. Rube had not moved, and George was keeping her distance as per her prior instruction.

Sara picked up on the look and turned to see who was behind her. She had only a vague recollection of the dark-haired man's presence – speaking to Grissom, possibly - but she did recognise the blonde girl standing beside him. She had suddenly appeared just as Sara had been about to duck under the yellow crime scene tape; they had bumped clumsily, the former saving herself from a fall by hanging on to Sara's arm. The girl had seemed oddly intent as they had mutually apologised.

Sara turned back to her Supervisor, her eyebrows climbing.

"What's going on? Grissom? Who are these people?"

For a split second Sara thought that he was going to touch her arm in a reassuring gesture, but for some reason Grissom stopped, the movement of his hand aborted almost as it had begun.

"Sara..."

Grissom found himself lost for words, unsure exactly where to start. It was too extraordinary.

Sara waited for the rest of his sentence to form, but as usual her reticent boss was leaving her to fill in the blanks. She opened her mouth to question further, but was distracted by the sound of a camera in use. She turned in time to see Catherine taking a shot of another vic. After throwing a backward glance at Grissom, Sara walked over to Catherine and reached out to attract her attention.

"Hey, Cat, what's up with...?"

The words died on her lips. With shocking clarity several things dawned on Sara at the same time. Catherine had uncharacteristically ignored her, but in that same instant Sara saw her own hand dissolve into a fine white mist as she attempted to touch the other woman's arm.

It should have been the most shocking moment of all, but it paled into insignificance when she realised just what Catherine was documenting.

"NO…no…no!"

Appalled, needing reassurance and an explanation, Sara turned back to the 'other' Grissom, who was standing right where she had left him. The unexpected sympathy on his face was nearly her undoing. She looked around at all the people present and realised that she was being ignored by nearly everyone.

Almost as if they couldn't see her…

"What the hell is going on here!"

Even as Sara demanded an answer her brain was furiously processing information. In a frighteningly quick time she turned back to Grissom, disbelief warring with shock on her face.

"We're dead?"

No, it didn't appear any more real when she said it out aloud. She looked at her remains. She looked past Catherine to Grissom's body. Her tentative question became a statement.

"You're dead. I'm dead…so who are these two bozos?"

Grissom's lips hitched up on one side, his expression gently wry. He nodded to the reapers, noting the girl's automatic bridle at Sara's insult.

"Sara, meet Rube and George. Our souls have been collected, our time is up."

Rube tipped his head in acknowledgement, but George's subdued 'Hi' could just as easily have been read as 'what_ever'_.

Sara shook her head, keeping her gaze on Grissom.

"No."

Grissom's hitch widened to a smirk. He didn't think that she would take it lying down. He raised his eyebrows, Sara's cue to elaborate.

"No. I'm not ready to die. I have unfinished business. All this is cra - nonsense."

Rube stirred at last. Sara glanced at him. George straightened up with a smirk and waited for her boss to put the _bozo_ in her place.

"I'm afraid that it is not up to you Miss Sidle. Any earthly concerns you may have had are now over. Like your colleague here, you have to move on -"

George's jaw went slack as Sara cut Rube dead, turning her back on him instead as she faced Grissom and demanded.

"Fill me in."

Grissom briefly explained about the soul collection and the idea of going on to the next stage, whatever it was. Sara was silent for a moment, half her attention on Catherine and Greg who were still working behind them. She slowly shook her head in denial.

"Still no. I'm not going anywhere until I know who killed us." She grinned suddenly. "Jeez, that sounds so _bizarre_." The smile faded. "Is that why you're still here?"

Grissom's gaze did not waver. Rube looked at him, interested in his answer.

"Something like that."

George could not remain quiet any longer. Exasperated, she appealed to Rube.

"Look, are we going or not? I have to get back to work."

Both Grissom and Sara looked at her in surprise before Rube could respond.

"You have a regular job as well?"

George folded her arms with all the scorn only a teenager can produce.

"Well, duh, we have to eat."

Ignoring the teen, Sara looked at her former boss and shrugged. Heaven can wait, her expression seemed to say.

"Back to the crime scene?"

Grissom nodded.

"As good a place as any to start."

With a polite nod to Rube, both he and Sara briskly walked towards the department's doors, forgetting until they walked 'into' them that they couldn't touch anything. Both of them were propelled through the door as white mist before being reassembled out in the corridor. They looked at each other, trying to be unimpressed with their new skill. Grissom's voice was dry.

"Odd sensation."

Sara smirked, unable to keep a straight face.

"Yeah, but very cool."

Not even trying to hide their grins, they left the building on foot.

Back in the emergency department George looked at Rube.

"I have to tell you, you usually make it look at lot easier than this."

Rube shrugged as they both turned to follow their respective reaps. As he held the door open for George he glanced thoughtfully back at Catherine.

"It usually is, peanut. It usually is."

Out in the front of the hospital Sara and Grissom halted to get their bearings. Sara stuck her hand out to flag down a cab but it sailed straight past them. They both realised at the same time that they had to adjust the way that they were thinking. Sara smiled sheepishly.

"I guess we walk."

But old habits die hard and Grissom smiled inwardly as Sara automatically checked for traffic before she stepped off the sidewalk. She turned to him as they walked.

"You seem to be taking this very calmly. Not bothered about being dead? Finally got the peace you crave?"

Grissom looked at her in mild surprise.

"You think I crave peace? Sara, I live in Las Vegas. Would you come here for 'peace'?"

Sara shook her head as they reached the other sidewalk. _I came here for you._

"You _work_ in Vegas; you came here for the work and accidentally ended up as a Supervisor. I'm even willing to bet it was a bug that brought you here and 'the powers that be' offered you a post when you cracked the case."

Grissom halted. Although being 'run through' by various pedestrians was not painful, it wasn't pleasant. To avoid being 'misted', both he and Sara moved to the edge of the sidewalk before he responded.

"I will admit that it was a case that brought me here, and that there were insects involved. But you make it sound as though I drifted into remaining here, without some sort of plan."

Sara looked at the people in front of her rather than Grissom.

"Didn't you? You're a solitary individual. You do occasionally join in with the team at work, but most of us – Catherine being the exception, of course – know very little about the outside-of-work Gil Grissom. Sure, you like classical music, you have a pet spider and you race cockroaches."

Sara faced Grissom suddenly, stopping them both in their tracks momentarily.

"That always struck me as unfair. You were bound to win. Cockroaches have much shorter legs."

Grissom gave Sara a pained 'ha-ha' look and they resumed walking as she continued.

"So, being solitary, it didn't really matter where you were based, did it? I bet you only had to give your Mom your forwarding address."

Grissom frowned as he mulled her words over. He had several friends. Well, good acquaintances. He thought about his conveniently short Christmas card list.

Maybe she had a point. Time to change the subject.

"You once asked me if I had ever wondered why you came to Vegas."

Grissom briefly closed his eyes in wonder at his choice of 'changed subject'. Frying pans and fires came to mind. Death had obviously unsettled him more than he had realised. He glanced at Sara and tried to judge her mood.

Sara looked at the ground, avoiding Grissom's gaze. She _had_ often wondered if he had given it any thought at all. She had never asked before because she had not wanted to find out that there had been nothing personal in his request. Did she really want to know the answer now?

_Hell, yeah!_

"Did you?"

Grissom looked at her profile, wondering whether or not to be grateful for the lack of eye contact. She always saw so much.

_Yes._

"No." The lie held conviction. "I just assumed that you came because I asked nicely."

Sara smiled ironically.

"Actually, no you didn't. 'Sara, I need someone I trust to check this out.' No mention about the fact that I had a job already, no mention of the fact that I passed a career-making case over to a colleague who is now at Quantico. No mention -"

Grissom had not given her situation a thought before he called her. He just wanted the brightest and the best and someone he trusted implicitly. Hers was the first and only name on the list. In hindsight he conceded that it could be interpreted as presumptive.

"I get the picture. I'm sorry that I dragged you away from the FBI and a high flying career. Can you ever forgive me?"

_In a heartbeat_.

Sara blinked a couple of times to clear her vision. So stupid to get teary over him now. Jeez, she was _dead_. She managed a grin.

"Hell, I forgave you even before I met Agent Culpepper."

Grissom inclined his head in tacit understanding. He hadn't much liked the man either, for all sorts of complicated reasons. And maybe for a simple reason, too.

"Thank you."

Sara looked at him.

"What for?"

Grissom smiled.

"Coming anyway."

Driving carefully out of the hospital parking garage, Rube turned in the direction that Grissom and Miss Sidle had taken. This loan car responded faster than his blue pick-up and he didn't want to return it to the 'shop with any dents in it.

George looked at him, her teeth worrying at her lower lip.

"Do you think we'll get into trouble if we take them to the explosion site instead of getting them to accept that they're dead and move on?"

Rube checked his rear-view before manoeuvring the car.

"Way I look at it, if we help them solve their problem they'll be more prepared to move on. I'm just saving them time."

George looked glum. She was going to be _so_ late for work.

"How do you think that they will cope?"

Sara voiced the question that had been on Grissom's mind since Catherine arrived at the hospital. He chose to assume that Sara had meant how the others would cope at work. His tone was deliberately light.

"Hopefully they will see the error of their ways and promote Catherine to Supervisor of the night shift. Warrick is ready to step up into her shoes. Now he's a married man he will probably need the better pay. Nicky and Greg will do very well in the team."

Grissom's tongue was firmly in his cheek when he added,

"Who knows, maybe Sofia will rejoin the shift now that there are two vacancies?"

Sara hoped that she had managed to hide her flash of annoyance at the mention of Sofia's name. It would be very small and petty of her to resent the woman who had, if nothing else, had made Grissom look at life a little differently. Heaven forbid that the word 'jealousy' should rear its ugly head.

Grissom could read some aspects of Sara very well. He knew that she had not hit it off with Sofia and that the relationship between the two women could – at best - only be called 'professional'. With hindsight he now realised that he may have underestimated the impact of Sofia's presence within the working dynamic of the lab. The splitting up of the night shift team had unsettled the group, and then Ecklie had taken his petty revenge out on Sofia for not backing his witch-hunt by demoting her to work under Grissom.

Grissom frowned slightly, remembering his impassioned 'I need Sara' and Ecklie's disgusted 'You can have her' as he had practically thrown her personnel file across the desk at him. His initial relief at having Sara back with him had later been overshadowed by the concern about how much he had revealed about his feelings for her. This, in turn, had led to him trying to redirect - or rather misdirect - Ecklie's attention away from her.

Grissom sighed. It was just this sort of complication that had contributed to his reluctance to become involved with a colleague. He had not chosen to become involved with Sara, but it had happened anyway. She was in his head and as prosaic as he considered himself to be, he thought of her as in his heart too. There were depths to Sara that intrigued him. Life around her would certainly not be boring.

He brought himself up short. There was no more _life_ around for either of them. He frowned inwardly. Afterlife, perhaps? But what kind would it be without Sara? Assailed by a sudden sense of urgency, he turned to speak to her.

"Sara, about S -"

"You two look like you could use a ride."

Rube's arrival cut Grissom off and Sara frowned, trying for the second time in as many minutes to hide her true feelings. Having watched the play of emotions across Grissom's face in those few seconds, she had _really_ wanted to know what he had been about to say.

Peeved, her voice was therefore somewhat tart when she turned to the vehicle's occupants.

"If we can't touch anything, how come we can get a ride with you? While you're at it, how can we walk on floors without our feet turning to mist?"

Grissom and Rube exchanged a look; it needed no explanation.

Rube's warm dark eyes still held amusement when he looked at Sara, but his tone was matter of fact as he shrugged.

"I don't make the rules. I do know that you can ride with us or you can walk. Which is it to be?"

When both former CSI's hesitated, he testily added,

"Preferably before I get a ticket."

Sara and Grissom looked at each other. With unspoken agreement they both got in to the car, Sara scooting across to make room for Grissom. Bizarrely, they found that although they could sit down, their hands still turned to mist when they tried to use them for leverage or balance.

As Rube pulled away, George looked at her watch and her 'tut' was less than subtle. Rube glanced her way.

"It's okay, peanut; I'll drop you off straight after. I'll keep an eye on the both of them until you get done."

George's anxiety about getting in to work lessened slightly, only to be replaced by another concern.

"Dolores is going to think that I'm _doing_ my doctor with all these 'appointments'."

Rube was not unsympathetic, he knew the difficulty of trying to work and do his real job at the same time.

"Tell her your doctor is female."

George glared at him.

"That is _so_ not going to help."

In the back of the car, Grissom and Sara were seated on opposite sides of the vehicle, a gap of several inches between them. Sara pretended that she had not noticed Grissom's choice of seat. He probably hadn't even given it any thought. It just seemed odd given how regularly he used to invade her personal space at work that he should sit all the way over the other side.

Now that they were dead she had hoped that whatever self-imposed limits he had placed on the possibility of a relationship between them had been rendered obsolete. She didn't want there to be anything between them - not even a sheet. She smirked to herself. When they were alone she would definitely challenge him about it.

Until then, years of practise at hiding her feelings kicked in with a vengeance and Sara forced herself to think about the crime scene instead.

Grissom tried to focus on what he could recall immediately prior to the explosion that had killed them both. It was proving more difficult than usual to cast his mind back. Contrary to Sara's assumption, he was perfectly aware of her presence beside him. The ingrained habit of years made him automatically hide his non work-related thoughts around her, but now he had an additional barrier to hide behind.

Grissom was terrified.

For probably the first time in his life – or death – he knew real fear. There had been terrible moments in the recent past; Culpepper using Sara as bait to catch a killer still brought him out in a cold sweat and her being held hostage in that locked office at the mental institution still gave him nightmares but none matched how he felt now.

When he had first realised that he could no longer touch anything, he had been curious as to how he could function without being able to interact with his environment. When it became clear that he didn't need to eat, drink, work or play, and that this stage of his death was transitory at best, he thought only of the fact that he had not taken the time to be with Sara in whatever capacity that he could when she was alive. When they had both been alive.

Thinking back now, to earlier in the day, he recalled Rube clapping a hand on his shoulder. _They_ could touch him, _but_ _would he be able to touch Sara?_

This was Grissom's dilemma. He had not made any attempt to find out if he could touch her, in fact he had gone out of his way to avoid it. Because if he had tried and failed - if his hand had misted instead of connecting - he would be truly dead and nothing else would matter.

If he did not try to touch Sara then, like Pandora, he would still have hope left.

"I'd wish I'd known."

Grissom's head snapped around to Sara in near panic. Had she read his mind?

"Known what?"

Sara looked at him, surprised at his odd tone. He appeared his usual self so she filed it away as nothing – for the moment.

"I'd wish I'd known that today was the end of the line. I would have worn something different than black pants, white top and a flak jacket."

Relief that his thoughts were still his own made Grissom appreciate the humour in her comment.

"Look on the bright side. At least you weren't in the shower."

Sara smiled mischievously at Grissom, her voice sotto voce.

"Look on the brighter side. We could _both_ have been in the shower."

Disconcerted at her frankness, Grissom had no answer, so he was relieved when she changed the subject.

"So, any thoughts on who wanted us dead?"

Grissom steered his errant thoughts away from a naked Sara in the shower and gave her question some consideration.

"I'm not so sure that we were the intended victims. The whole thing was too open to chance. It could have been any of us walking into the set up; it just happened to be you and me."

With perfect timing Rube slowed the car to a halt, pulling over to the kerb. Up ahead the road was blocked off, keeping the public at bay around the site of the explosions. Yellow tape had been tied off on several sections of the police barriers, keeping even the authorised personnel from accidentally destroying any evidence. Both Warrick and Nick were still processing the scene.

Grissom looked at Rube.

"What happens now?"

Rube half turned in his seat to meet his questioning gaze. His shrug was very Italian.

"I can't tell you that. You get over there and do what you need to help you move on, but I have to tell you, there is nothing that you can say or do that can be communicated to your friends. I'll come back for you later; I'll know where you are."

Grissom nodded.

"I understand."

He turned to speak to Sara and discovered that she had already left the cab – straight through the still-closed door. He shook his head, and climbed out after her. Death hadn't slowed her down at all.

They both walked slowly towards the last place on earth that they had been living breathing human beings. Suddenly the area acquired a very personal aura quite different to what they were used to. Neither of them were treating it as a crime scene; they were just looking and taking it in, not even particularly aware of Rube's departure. Sara found her camera, smashed beyond repair and lying next to the bloodied detritus left by the paramedics. Grissom found his spot a few feet further away. He could see why he hadn't even made it to the hospital.

"Did you see that?"

Both Grissom and Sara looked up automatically at the sound of Warrick's voice, thinking for a moment that he was speaking to them. Nick's voice from behind them dashed their hopes.

"See what?"

Warrick was looking at the rapidly disappearing car. Without thought he quickly snapped off a shot of the licence plate.

"Maybe nothing. I could have sworn that the driver was talking to someone in the rear of the car."

Nick straightened up and followed Warrick's gaze. The car had gone.

"So?"

"There was no-one in the back."

As Warrick turned back to his work, Sara and Grissom looked at the two younger men. It was obvious to Sara that they were working under difficult conditions, barely keeping their worries under control. A thought occurred to her.

"Do you think that they know yet?"

"That we're dead? I don't think so. They might have guessed about me, but they must have had hope about you. We've only just left Catherine, don't forget."

Sara looked at Warrick and Nick with sympathy. She so wanted to tell them that it was okay, that she and Grissom were alright. She walked away for a few minutes, needing to be alone.

As she had done so often in the past, Sara immersed herself in the work. Ten minutes later she tutted in frustration.

"This is so weird."

Grissom turned back to see Sara crouching beside one of the little yellow evidence markers.

"Big weird or little weird?"

Sara smiled despite herself as she looked up.

"Little weird. I keep trying to touch things and my hand vanishes. I want to pick up this piece of plastic and have a look underneath. Just stupid stuff."

Grissom empathised. He too found it frustrating just to stand and watch without the ability to assist.

"We'll just have to trust Nick and Warrick to work up to their usual high standard. They'll figure it out."

Sara's eyes opened wide with surprise.

"Did you just say what I think you said?"

Grissom smiled fleetingly, a memory stirred.

"Yes. I said we have to let them do their job. You heard what Rube said, we can't give them any information. Even if we could, how would they present it? 'Oh, yes, your Honor, our recently deceased colleagues helped us crack the case'.

"I know, I was just surprised at you giving up so quickly, it's not like you."

Sara stood up, brushing her clothes out of habit. She suddenly realised what she was doing.

"Hey, look! I can touch myself."

Grissom's expression was priceless as he tried to think of a tactful response. Sara rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Okay, I could have phrased that better."

Grissom shook his head, an eyebrow cocked in amusement.

Sara was spared from further explanation and embarrassment by the return of Nicky, but the expression on his face wiped the humour from hers. She could see that he was holding his cell, still open, in his hand.

"Warrick…"

Grissom could see Warrick's shoulders stiffen. He could tell that he knew that he was about to hear something he didn't want to hear. Warrick held his hand up, palm out as if warding off the truth.

"No…"

Nick's jaw worked to get the words out.

"They…" he cleared his throat "…they're gone. Catherine said…she said…that…Gil was already..."

The tears had begun to slip down his face unchecked. He didn't care.

"…and, um…Sara…a few minutes ago."

Warrick's mouth opened, but nothing came out for the longest moment.

"Both of them? _Both?_ But they can't be…man, there must be some mistake."

Nick shook his head. He had said exactly the same thing to Catherine himself.

"There's more. Catherine said that Ecklie wants us off this; he says we're too close. He's giving it to days."

Warrick stood up straight, anger evident in every line of him.

"Well, screw Ecklie. _We're_ doing this; no-one else touches it."

Nick's jaw tightened. Warrick's thoughts mirrored his own.

"Damn straight."

He wiped his face with the back of his hand. There would be time for grief later. Now they had a job to do. He set to work beside Warrick, his face resolute but his thoughts wretched.

_Sara, oh God, Sara!_

Grissom turned to Sara, his voice tight.

"They know now."

Several hours later, Warrick and Nick unknowingly gave Grissom and Sara a ride back to the Criminalistics Building. Unable to do anything other than watch, they wandered around the place, occasionally looking over someone's shoulder or peering down microscopes that had been left active.

Eventually Grissom left Sara watching Hodges work and went back to his office. He found that he could sit in his chair, but that he couldn't touch anything on the desk. He shook his head, idly wondering who _did _make the rules.

"I thought you'd be here."

Sara's amused voice brought Grissom's head up.

"Mmmn. I was worried about Tant, but she's okay. I saw Greg leaving with her." His lips twitched with amusement. "Despite that, I'm hoping she's going to a good home."

Sara folded her arms and leaned on the door frame, absently noting that she didn't fall through.

"Why'd you call your spider Tant? Was it some play on Tarantula?"

Grissom shook his head.

"Not exactly, it was short for Tantalus and it wasn't her name, it was her nickname."

Sara walked further into the office and over to the shelves, giving the impression that she was perusing his collection of oddities, but actually thinking about the fact that she was _really_ alone with Gris now.

"Tantalus? As in the mythical Greek king who was punished in Hades by being made to stand in water that receded every time that he tried to drink it?"

Grissom smiled, not surprised that she knew.

"Yes. Not so many know that he was also standing under fruit that moved away when he reached for it."

Sara's meander around the office brought her to the chair in front of the desk, so she seated herself. Grissom rarely did anything without purpose, which begged a question.

"So what's Tant's real name?"

"I'll tell you one day, but not today."

"Why not, Gris? Heck, we're dead, what harm can it do?"

Grissom's smile was enigmatic, but he did not answer her question, choosing instead to pose one of his own.

"Today you've found out that your time is up. If you had known, was there anything that you would have done differently?"

Sara's first reaction was a flippant smile.

"What? You mean other than 'I wish I'd worn something different'?"

Grissom nodded. Sara thought for a moment then her eyes twinkled. "I sure wouldn't have gone to work today. I would have spent the time in bed."

Grissom raised his eyebrows in a pretension of surprise.

"But then I'd be sitting here by myself. With no-one to talk to."

Sara's smile broadened.

"I didn't say that I would have been alone in the bed. If it's my last day, I'd have nothing to lose by propositioning you. You always underestimated your appeal, it's part of your charm."

Grissom pursed his lips as he thought about the concept. By force of habit he went with the safer question.

"I'm charming?"

Sara's expression told Grissom that she was aware of his dissembling.

"You can be when you want to be. A lot of guys don't realise that being unaware of how desirable they are is both sweet and a challenge. Well, providing the guy isn't a total loser."

Grissom's eyes met hers.

"Gee, thanks."

Sara waved her hand in an effort to erase his misinterpretation.

"Remember the original Star Trek? Kirk and Spock? Kirk was supposed to be the sexy one who got all the women with his boyish charm. Spock was the unemotional one, the one with no lustful urges. So who was sex on legs? Who was the one all the women wanted? Spock, of course. First time I saw him, I was eight and I wanted to give him my all, before I'd even realised what my 'all' was. By then the show was in re-run, but it didn't dent his attractive charm."

Sara was smiling reminiscently, and Grissom was amused at the thought of her as a pre-adolescent lusting after an alien, though his smile slipped when she added.

"See? Even then I wanted emotionally unavailable men."

Grissom desperately wanted to be able to pick up something from his desk in order to occupy his hands and prevent them from reaching out to her. He couldn't bring himself to take his chance just yet. Instead, he clasped both hands together and squarely met her gaze.

"Sara, I'm sorry -"

She waved away his apparent sympathy.

"It's okay, it's my fault."

Grissom shook his head.

"No, I meant that I'm sorry that I caused you so much pain. It was not my intention; it was never my intention to hurt you."

Sara's dark eyes regarded him evenly. A year ago she might have told him that he had been a fundamental part of her drinking problem. A year ago, she might have blamed him for the pain she had brought upon herself when the deep and dark secrets of her youth had finally clawed their way to the surface. But now she had a better perspective on her life, a better grasp on her reality.

"You have no apology to make. You at least tried to maintain the balance between us; it was me that misinterpreted your...um, you."

Grissom looked uncomfortable. Sara had not done anything wrong. She could not help being attractive, intelligent and desirable.

"No, it was me that sent the mixed messages. My fault."

_My cowardice._

Sara smiled gently, her eyes soft.

"What I remember is getting to the lowest point in my life…and finding that there was someone reaching out, a hand in the darkness that pulled me into the light. Someone who didn't judge me; someone who made me feel safe enough to unburden myself for the first time."

_For that alone I would love you._

Grissom looked even more uncomfortable with her gratitude. He clasped his hands tighter together to remind himself not to reach out now.

"Anyone would have helped you, Sara. I'm nothing out of the ordinary."

Sara stood up, her smile wistful as she turned away.

"Like I said…sweet and challenging."

She walked out of the office through one of the walls, leaving Grissom feeling as though he had somehow let her down.

One thing was certain; the afterlife would have to wait until he and Sara had straightened a few things out.

Grissom started to get to his feet, fully intending to follow Sara and start 'straightening' immediately, but the door to his office opened abruptly and Catherine strode in. She marched up to the desk and slammed both hands onto its surface. She glared at Grissom.

"You bastard! You lousy rotten bastard! How could you do this to me!"

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Neither of these two cool shows are owned by me and I sure as heck am not making any money here. No infringement of either show is intended.

Title: Out of Time

Author: hazeleyes57

Rating: M

A/N: This is a Dead Like Me / CSI crossover and is part three, so you should be aware by now that our two favourite CSI's have started their last big adventure.

Sincere apologies for the delay with this chapter. I have finally moved house and got the internet back up and running at long last!

Obviously, events have moved on in the CSI show, but for the sake of continuity, this is set 'before' the canon romance.

**Out of Time**

"You bastard! You lousy rotten bastard! How could you do this to me?!"

Catherine's accusation hung in the air for a long moment as Grissom, severely taken aback by her attack, sought the words to respond. It was several more seconds before it registered that she should not even have been able to see him.

"Catherine?"

"Dammit Grissom, why the hell did you do it? You knew the area wasn't safe!"

Catherine was still leaning over the desk. Her glare of righteous anger was, Grissom saw, only just keeping the tears at bay. He answered her question on the remote chance that she was actually aware of his non-corporeal presence.

"It wasn't a conscious decision. When I saw where Sara was headed, no thought entered my head other than that of trying to stop her."

Catherine's head dropped and her hair fell to hide her face from view. Grissom thought he may have heard a sniffle. He got to his feet and moved left around his desk. He stood beside Catherine, his expression apologetic. Despite being a less than tactile person when alive, he was filled with the urge to comfort her with a simple touch. He reached out to her shoulder, but as he had half-expected, his hand vanished into white mist and Catherine remained untouched.

She lifted her head as if it were a great weight and stared at Grissom's empty seat. All her anger vanished, leaving just resignation.

"It was for Sara, wasn't it?"

Grissom now knew for certain that Catherine could not see or hear him, but he responded anyway.

"Yes, it was, and I would do it again in a heartbeat if I thought it would save her."

Catherine stood up straight. She patted her pockets for a tissue and came up empty. She walked around the desk and opened the bottom left drawer, then plucked one from the box concealed within. Ghostly Grissom's eyebrow rose in unsurprised amusement at her knowledge of the contents of his desk.

Catherine wiped her eyes and then blew her nose. She looked around the office at the shelves and jars, exhibits and curiosities, part of her absently wondering what the new Supervisor would do in here. She spoke aloud in the direction of the desk as if imagining Grissom seated there.

"My only consolation in all this mess is the hope that you are with her now."

Grissom watched Catherine leave his office and close the door quietly behind her. He looked at the wall that Sara had vanished through and sighed with breath that he didn't need.

"Mmmn. Define '_with_'."

There was no answer.

Rube rolled up his newspaper and got to his feet. He was probably aware that he was absently tapping his leg with the tube of old news, but George knew from lengthy experience that it was never a good idea to try to second-guess Rube. A year ago she might have immediately asked him his intentions about their current escapees, but she was older now and more worldly wise.

But, Hell, it was still fun to yank on his chain.

"Whatcha gonna do, Rube? Bust their butts?"

Rube turned and gave George one of his 'looks'. She had been on the receiving end of many different ones herself in this last year, but this was one of his regulars.

_Do not test my patience, it is already spread thin._

She gave him one back.

_Ya don't scare me, buster….Well, not too much, anyway. _

Rube ignored it, or at least appeared to, and crossed the sidewalk in front of the large building that currently housed two members of staff that were no longer on the payroll. George followed him into the Criminalistics building, looking around with interest, but trying not to be noticed at the same time.

Within a few minutes they were standing at the main reception area, where Rube took a seat. When George went to sit down, Rube stopped her.

"See if there's any food or drink machines around here for folks waiting."

George's face said 'why me?' but to her credit she didn't say it aloud. Rube nodded further up the glass walled corridor and George's expression cleared when she realised what he had intended all along. She waved vaguely over her shoulder.

"I'll go see if I can get a drink or something. Back in a minute."

Rube nodded again as he unfurled his newspaper. He opened it up but held it low enough to keep a surreptitious eye on the activity around him, mindful that he was also on the lookout for a certain redhead.

George had wandered as far as the female washroom. She ducked inside and found, thankfully, that the place was currently deserted. She washed her hands for something to do, then looked at her reflection. She was suddenly reminded that she was no longer being seen as her previous, dead self, but as Millie, her living alter ego. Millie looked like a quiet mouse, and she – George – could capitalize on that now.

The washroom door opened behind her, and she saw the woman from the hospital enter. Their eyes met in the mirror; George quickly looked down at her hands, so she didn't see Catherine briefly frown before she carried on into a free cubicle. As soon as the lock clicked, George hurried out of the washroom and went looking for the recalcitrant reaps. In her haste she rounded a corner and ran straight into a white-coated lab rat. He recoiled but didn't fall.

"Whoa, sorry! You okay?"

George gathered her scattered wits more quickly than the other person and realised that she had seen this guy when she and Rube were trying to collect their reaps up at the hospital. She was hoping that he wouldn't recognise her, and dipped her head to use her hair to hide her face.

"No, I mean yeah, I'm okay. Sorry, I wasn't looking where…um, sorry."

George turned quickly on her heel and hurried away. She could practically feel the eyes in the back of her head and for several seconds she expected to hear a shout behind her. She headed back to Rube. He could do his own snooping from now on. She followed the corridor back to the front desk and discovered that Rube wasn't alone.

It was the CSI with the camera from the emergency room and the same woman that she had just met in the washroom.

How the heck had she got here first?

George cursed under her breath.

_Sheesh, don't they have anyone else working here?_

Sara walked around her former workplace, idly noting the way people worked when they thought that no-one was watching. She wondered how many people here knew about her and Grissom's premature launch into the ever after. The main police procedure room did seem a little subdued, but losing personnel was a fact of life in police work. Those that were left picked up the pieces and carried on. Sara's lips twisted wryly at her unintended pun.

She absently noted that Cathy Baker – she of the perpetual diet – was taking surreptitious bites out of a frosted donut hidden in her desk drawer. Mickey Rodriguez was gambling online again. He was asking for the crap to hit the fan this time. Not everyone's boss was as helpful as Grissom had been with Warrick.

Julia in ballistics – Bobby's shift alternate – was still being e-mailed by Joe, despite the fact that he was on his last warning with his long-suffering wife. She was pleased to see that Julia had obviously developed a backbone and was deleting the messages without reading them. Good for her, she deserved better than that creep.

Sara worked her way back down to the labs, stopping here and there along the way. She used the doorways and kept her movements through solid objects limited. Misting didn't feel very pleasant and she wanted a little more confidence in the reassembling process before she did it more than was absolutely necessary.

Eventually she found herself back in the break room. The TV was on but the sound was off, and the atmosphere was quiet despite it being the day shift. None of the three staff present were saying anything of interest; at least, Sara amended mentally, nothing of interest to her.

She had only been there five minutes when Grissom joined her. He looked around and also noted the subdued tone, so different to the night shift.

"Quiet as the grave."

Sara smirked.

"Yeah, deadly."

Grissom gave a small appreciative smile.

"So." Sara began cheerfully, changing the subject. "What have we got?"

"Not a great deal. Still waiting on Trace to identify the explosive material used -"

"To kill us."

Up went the eyebrow as Grissom smoothly continued.

"– in the device, but it does look promising. Nick is going over the fragments collected at the scene to look for indications as to the type of construction, just in case we have been left any small shred of useful evidence, but it will take time."

Sara nodded in acknowledgement and refused to be downhearted. Her former workmates were the best and they would come up with the answers in due course. Grissom was his usual Zen self about the whole issue, but knowing him as well as she did, she thought he seemed a little 'off', as though he were distracted by other more weighty issues than the identity of those who had engineered their deaths.

She was, however, surprised to find herself thinking that she was not as concerned about it as she thought she would be. Hours ago she was hot to get into the lab and peer over everyone's shoulders until they had their answers, now she found that it all seemed a little more remote from her. She still cared intellectually, but she didn't feel so all fired up emotionally.

Could dead people be in shock? Did the recently deceased get a period of mourning for themselves? She had no frame of reference and her lips twisted in amusement. Perhaps they should attend their own funerals just to say goodbye.

Grissom saw the smirk and wondered how Sara had travelled mentally from 'we have no solid leads' to something that had amused her. Both eyebrows lifted in silent enquiry and Sara obliged, her face straight.

"Just wondering if I'm in shock. Wouldn't it be cool to attend our own funeral? See if anyone says anything nice?"

Grissom's eyes narrowed as he assessed the level of her sincerity. Did she honestly think that he would be in the least interested in his own…?

"No."

Sara loved to mess with Grissom's expectations and her 'gotcha' grin broke out. Grissom knew that he had been played, but he shook his head and turned back to the door, hiding his own smile as he did so. It would not do to let her think that she had won. Even if she had.

Grissom did not hear a footfall, but knew that Sara followed him out of the break room. Out of habit more than anything they ended up back in Grissom's office. The door was still shut, as Catherine had left it.

"So what do we do now?"

Grissom did not assume that Sara was referring to the closed door.

"As always, we wait. We should be able to tell when they have found something."

Sara nodded as she stepped forward and dissolved into white mist. She turned in time to see Grissom reforming inside the office. She saw him grimace with mild annoyance and knew that the novelty was already wearing off, but she couldn't resist teasing him.

"Kinda creeps you out thinking that other people who have died might have walked 'round this building, in this spirit state, peeking into places they shouldn't, looking at things that they oughtn't."

It certainly distracted Grissom. He looked at Sara with the same glint in his eyes that usually preceded a joke that only the two of them would 'get'.

"I would expect staff here to be above that kind of behaviour. Even when dead."

Sara scoffed, and then smirked, trying for a straight expression.

"Yeah. Right. Absolutely, without a doubt."

Grissom just looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

"Hodges maybe, but _you_ Sara? Death is showing me a whole new side of you."

Sara grinned as she moved to sit gingerly down on the edge of Grissom's desk, relaxing only when she didn't fall through it.

"Don't worry; I managed to stay out of the Men's during my invisible tour."

"Sara!"

"Aw, c'mon. Don't tell me that you didn't think of a quick look at the women -"

Grissom didn't rise to the bait. He would not have been interested in just 'any' woman.

"No, I did not, and I'm surprised that you even gave it a thought."

Grissom looked like he wanted to say more, but Sara continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"- 'course, not all the action is in the men's."

"I – what?"

Grissom was intrigued despite himself. Action? Here, at work?

Sara smirked.

"Ha, thought that would get your attention."

Grissom made to protest further, but she cut in.

"Yep. Seems I underestimated Tomas from Security and the potential uses of Store Room B6."

Grissom frowned as he recalled the deceptively quiet Security guard; wiry rather than big, he never seemed to have any difficulty quelling trouble almost before it could start.

His silence further encouraged Sara.

"I was taking a short cut through the store – from Brass' office – when the door opened and Tomas came in. I was about to leave when the door opened again and someone else slipped in."

Grissom looked at Sara when she paused – for dramatic effect, he suspected, but she gave him the answer anyway.

"Julia."

Both Grissom's eyebrows rose.

"?"

"Julia Piper, Ballistics?"

Grissom nodded, well aware of the woman Sara was referring to. He had not so much been surprised that they were together, more by the idea that they had been together in a store room. Julia Piper was an odd fish; a shy quiet woman who possessed a phenomenal grasp of firearms that was completely at odds with her seemingly demure personality.

Grissom frowned. It struck him as odd that she would agree to meet Tomas in a store room. Had he perhaps abused his position in order to get her there alone?

"Did she look worried? As if she was there unwillingly...?"

Sara grinned, shaking her head. Tomas sure explained Julia's 'backbone'.

"Hell, no. She marched across to Tomas and had his weapon out in two seconds flat – I'm not referring to his gun here – another four seconds and he was _holstered._"

Grissom didn't know what to say. Sara's grin was inviting him to join her in her amusement, and it occurred to him that there was no reason not to; he was no longer her Supervisor, work colleague, or anything else. There was nothing keeping him from her except his own fear. As usual.

So, also as usual, he changed the subject.

"What do you make of all this?"

Sara's smile faded, for which Grissom was both sorry and relieved. He was not sure if she sighed before she answered.

"This? As in being dead?"

At his nod, she gave it some thought for several moments.

"You can't work in this job without thinking about death from a more personal angle, but somehow, I just never figured that I wouldn't see it coming and not have time to do something about it. Actually, I guess I'm angry that my choice was taken away. But I never figured for all this. I thought that it was going to be over, that's it, gone, finito, into the big black. Like being unconscious."

Sara looked at Grissom, her eyes intent on his.

"In retrospect, there are many things that I'd wished I'd done, and many things that I worried about that now seem kinda trivial. But I feel that I ran out of time, not out of ideas. I wasn't ready, I wasn't done, I wasn't _finished_."

Grissom held her gaze and wondered if her thoughtful words were a reference to the 'something' that had been simmering between them for so long. He was surprised to feel as if his heart was racing. Did he still have a spirit heartbeat? Did his blood still flow in his body? Sara's steady, dark eyes drew him back, and he answered slowly.

"I'm sure that many people think like that at the end. I have done many of the things that I wanted to do, have been to the places I wanted to see, but I wasn't finished with the wanting and the doing either. I have…regrets about the things I never made time for, or got round to experiencing."

The silence seemed to expand like ripples on a pond. Sara shifted and got to her feet, unable to remain seated while her thoughts were so active. She wasn't sure whether it was agitation or excitement, but underneath it all was a sweet calmness that said '_at last!'_

Grissom followed her with his eyes.

"Such as?"

Sara's simple question did not appear at first to have a simple answer. There were material things he would have liked to have done, like travelling all over the world, but he quickly realised that he would have enjoyed it all so much more had Sara been with him to share the experiences. Any reason that he had held himself back and aloof from Sara seemed trivial now that he was dead.

It was then that it dawned on Grissom that the answer was simple after all.

"You."

Sara grinned as her heart leapt. Finally, after all this time, the truth. All it had taken was their death. She shook her head ruefully.

Grissom felt panic stir when Sara shook her head. No…what? No chance? No way? No, I don't see you like that? _What?_

"Took you long enough."

Grissom relaxed - _no, sagged_ - back against his seat, his relief profound. No…_problem!_

Sara stood upright from her position leaning on the desk and reached out a hand.

Grissom's panic blossomed anew.

Could they touch each other or would her hand turn to white mist?

Was he in Heaven or Hell?

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: CSI not mine. Copyright product used without permission, but no infringement is intended.

Author: hazeleyes57

Title: Out of Time (4)

Rating: T for this chapter only.

A/N: Please forgive delay for this chapter, RL seriously interferes with fic fun, but I'm feeling much better lately. Thank you for your patience and support, it's much appreciated. With regards to timeline, this fic is situated in about season five, before we knew about the canon romance.

                                         **Out of Time (4)**

Grissom didn't know how long he would have remained staring stupidly at Sara's outstretched hand if the door to his office hadn't swung open and made the pair of them jump. He was torn between dismay and relief. Hope was still present.

"…all I'm saying is that the new guy might not appreciate some of Grissom's more…exotic decorating tastes."

Hodges turned to Catherine and she wanted to smack the smug grin off his face. There was no doubting that the man was good at his job, but unfortunately, he was well aware of it. She glared at him.

"That may be so, but you are not touching one thing in here even when we know who gets the hot seat. So get back to the lab and find me some answers."

_That's polite for 'Fuck off', lab rat._

Hodges took a lingering look around the place as if checking out how much carpet he would need to replace when he moved in. Catherine gritted her teeth and waited him out.

Smirking, Hodges left.

In almost the same moment, both Sara and Catherine muttered.

"Like there is _any_ chance you would end up in this office."

Grissom's lips twitched.

"_Many_ more people would have to die!"

Rube stood up to speak to Catherine. To be sure it was the polite and respectful thing to do, but it also evened out the less than subtle power balance being played out.

The two of them sized each other up.

He knew that the redhead was fashionably attractive, but personally Rube preferred women with a little more meat on their bones - something to get a hold of. Although he was perfectly aware that his views were often considered to be out-dated, he didn't care.

As to her opinion of him, it was irrelevant provided she trusted him.

Catherine studied her visitor. He looked European, dark haired, in his early fifties, maybe, though something about those dark eyes made her think of the wisdom that one acquired with age.

She gave him her politely inquisitive 'official' smile.

"You wish to speak to someone about the explosion earlier today, Mr…?"

The man nodded once.

"Call me Rube; yes, I was wondering if you were making any progress identifying the perpetrator of this terrible crime?"

Catherine's instincts went on full alert and her expression became wary. Usually when people enquired about something so quickly it was because they wanted to find out just how much evidence had already been discovered.

"Our investigation into the explosion is still at the early stages, but we are making progress. Obviously there has been an impact on the department itself, but we are making every effort to bring those responsible to justice."

Rube nodded, unsurprised by the official line being taken.

"Completely understandable; I am truly sorry for your loss."

Catherine acknowledged the condolence.

"Thank you. May I ask what your interest is in this case?"

Rube searched her eyes. He sensed that her connection to Grissom was more than professional. They were obviously friends – good ones – but not lovers; he didn't get that vibe from her. Plus, there was the whole 'Sara' thing going on.

"Gil's an old friend of mine from way back. I was supposed to meet him this morning…"

Catherine's expression betrayed her scepticism.

"Really? How is it that he's never mentioned you to me?"

Rube smiled and shrugged, his hands out, palms upwards.

"You know how it is; some things in youth get left behind. What can I say?"

Catherine countered mildly.

"Sometimes things get left behind for a reason."

Rube shrugged again, unperturbed.

"And sometimes it just happens. But I would like to know that you have someone in custody before I return home."

Catherine shifted slightly and Rube moved automatically to remain facing her.

"How can we contact you, Mr…?"

He proffered a card.

"Rube. Here's my hotel number; they'll take a message if I'm not there. My cell number's on the reverse."

Holding it carefully by the edge, Catherine glanced at the card. Medium-priced hotel for the visitor, not the tourist.

When she looked back at 'Rube', he was regarding her with those serious dark eyes. It unsettled her, but not in a bad way.

"We'll let you know if there is anything that we can tell you. If you feel that you have any information pertinent to the case, we'd appreciate it if you'd call."

"I look forward to hearing from you, Miss…?"

"CSI Willows. You can reach me here, or they will relay a message."

Rube smiled, beaten at his own game, but not upset. CSI Willows was smooth, no doubt about it. He watched her walk away, but then spotted George lurking at the end of the corridor as he turned back to the waiting area. He inclined his head towards the seats and saw George's 'ok' nod.

As Catherine headed towards the main reception desk, she knew that something about her encounter with Grissom's 'friend' was off kilter. Her instincts had been honed on the exotic dancing circuit and she had always been able to tell whether or not a customer was going to be trouble. These same instincts now told her that the mysterious Rube registered as okay, but at the same time her intellect warned her that he _must_ be regarded as suspicious, because whatever else was going on, he had not known Grissom. She'd have to ask Gil later…

Catherine brought herself up sharply, the shock washing over her afresh.

_DEAD! Gil was dead; there would be no asking him about anything, ever again._

Before the grief could take hold, she forced it back behind a mental wall labelled 'to be dealt with later'. She couldn't afford to lose it now, not when she had so much else to do. She was in charge – at least for the moment – and she wasn't going to give Ecklie a reason to take anything away from her.

Catherine stopped at the main desk.

"Marcie, do me a favour? That guy over by the seats? See if you can lift a good picture of him off the security camera. There should be at least one good one when he shifted to keep facing me. I'm going to the lab; see if I can lift some prints off this card."

"Sure thing, Catherine. Give me a few minutes."

Sara had been watching everything from the sidelines and now she returned to Rube.

"Don't underestimate her. She knows how to play hardball with the best of them and you've made her suspicious."

Rube glanced at Sara before turning back to his chair. He got out his newspaper and opened it at random.

"She plays hardball, so what? What's she gonna do? I didn't kill you or your boss. The sooner this thing is resolved, the sooner we can get on with what we gotta do. All I asked was what progress was being made."

Sara shook her head.

"That's not all. You lied to her and she will find you out."

Rube frowned.

"So I lied about being a friend from way back. It'll keep her busy."

Sara sighed – and then, distracted for a moment, wondered how she _could_. If she was dead and not breathing, how could she sigh…or even speak for that matter?

When Sara looked at Rube over his paper, her expression became mildly exasperated, as if she were dealing with someone being deliberately obtuse.

"Not _that _lie. You're probably on some of the incident scene footage recorded by the fire crews, and have also, possibly, been caught on cell cameras. But you told Catherine that you never met up with Grissom today. Big mistake."

Rube conceded that she had a point. 

"Well, you and your colleague had better get a move on and solve your own deaths. You can then go on to wherever you're going, and we can get back to work. I dread to think what mess the lists are in back at the Waffle Haus."

Sara had turned on her heel and started to walk away before the last comment sank in.

_Waffle house?_

_Just what kind of outfit was running the hereafter?_

She kept walking, passing the sullen George at the far end of the seating.

Some things it was perhaps better not to know.

Outside Sara's former place of work, a man climbed out of his car and looked casually around the parking lot. He breathed in deep and exhaled, his nose wrinkling with displeasure at the smell of exhaust fumes and warm asphalt. Even in the early evening it was still warm and humid. The man was Caucasian, of average height, nondescript, dressed in unremarkable clothes, not too shabby but not too high-end either. Nothing about him was designed to attract any attention. He took a holdall out of his trunk, slammed the lid and locked the vehicle. He tested one door to check it was secure.

You couldn't be too careful these days.

The man walked purposefully across to the Criminalistics building entrance, pulling a cap out of his back pocket. A logo on the front matched the one on the holdall.

_Vegas Pipes – A plumb job!_

In another pocket there was a job requisition sheet for the clearance of the blocked Men's room on the first floor, signed by J. Brass.

As forgeries went, it was a good job, certainly good enough to fool the idiots on the front desk. He prided himself on his excellent standard of work, whatever his chosen field.

Even death.

Ten minutes later he was in the building and heading for the stairs. The reception staff had checked his job order signature against the one they had on record for Jim Brass. They had made him open his holdall and checked the contents were actually plumbing tools for his work. As he had predicted they security had been tightened since the bombing, but there was a certain arrogance about some of the cops that suggested their belief in the fact that no-one would _dare_ to actually attack the police building.

Tsk tsk. How wrong they were.

As he passed the reception waiting room he noted several people milling about; a couple of call girls probably just bailed out, a morose teenage girl, kinda plain-looking, a dark-haired old guy and some skirt on the desk who was giving him a suspicious look. He chewed his gum in an exaggerated fashion and gave her a nod and a wink. Not too bold, not too reserved. Just a good ol' boy here to fix the john. He smiled to himself when the receptionist hurriedly looked away.

He took the stairs two at a time, whistling tunelessly. He had picked the Men's room quite deliberately for his next gift. Women were far more likely to note something out of the ordinary, even with a certified and signposted male plumber in the Women's room. Men generally avoided looking anywhere but at the job in hand when using public restrooms and were therefore much less likely to see him slip a little package behind one of the water tank access panels.

 It amused him to think that he was literally going to catch them with their pants down.

Grissom had just left one of the day shift arguing with Nick Stokes in Trace when he saw the plumber come through the fire doors at the top of the stairwell. Ordinarily he wouldn't have paid the guy too much attention, but something about this person made Grissom's spider sense tingle.

He took a closer look at the man's face. It was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't for the moment think where he had seen him before.

Grissom frowned as he moved closer, undetected. In his mind, he was sure that he had seen this man in a suit.

"Why aren't you wearing overalls? You're a plumber, you should be in overalls. Or should you?"

Curious now, Grissom followed the mystery man up the corridor, watching as he looked casually around himself as he walked. He was taking a note of anything and everything without appearing to do so. It reminded Grissom of Sara when she entered a crime scene.

Crime scene.

"That's it. _A crime scene._ I remember you now. Bontemps, Michael. How could I have forgotten?"

Grissom's immediate reaction was to go and find Sara, but he remained with Bontemps. He needed to know what he was up to, but he had a sick feeling that he already knew.

Jim Brass was leaning back in his chair and his eyes were closed. He was exhausted and looked as if he had slept in his clothes. He was not sleeping, though he desperately wished that he could. Sooner or later his body would beat the black crap that called itself coffee around here and he would collapse, but he wouldn't be able to call it rest.

There would be no rest until Sara and Grissom's killer was caught. Or dead.

_Preferably the latter._

"Captain?"

The tentative voice at his office door did not sound like it was about to give Brass good news, but he opened his eyes anyway.

"What is it?"

The young female police officer, clutching nervously at a slim file, made her way to his desk and placed two photos on it.

"Miss – um, that is, CSI Willows asked Marcie on the desk to get a picture of this guy in reception asking about progress with the bombing investigation?"

Brass leaned forward and his chair righted itself. He looked at the man in the recent photo.

"What of it? Did we get a hit?"

"Well, not exactly."

Brass' patience was on holiday. His tone was…testy.

"Did we or didn't we? Which is it?"

The officer, Aeryn something, Brass was too tired to recall, started to speak really quickly.

"One of the projects I was given when I started my training back in Seattle was transferring historical police records on to the computer network. Records that we only had filed on paper were incorporated into the latest database in order to cross reference unsolved cold cases with the advanced technology available for evidence collection and comparison."

Brass nodded in a 'hurry up and give me the Reader's Digest version' sort of way.

"Well, nothing came up on AFIS, so I checked the archive files too, and that's where we got the hit. CSI Willows managed to get a print off a card; it brought up an old case that is closed. But here's where it gets odd…"

She paused for Brass to comment, but the look her gave her with bloodshot eyes spurred her on instead.

"…The print matches the old case, but the likeness drawn at the time bears only a superficial resemblance to the guy who came here. Same approximate height, weight, and colouring."

The officer paused only for breath, mindful of Brass' glare.

"Even the same first name, Reuben, but -"

This time Brass interrupted.

"So, round him up, let's have a one to one with him, um?"

"But that's just it, we can't, he's dead."

"What? When? How?"

"If Reuben Sofar was alive he'd be about a hundred and fifteen. He was born in the eighteen nineties, and died during an attempted robbery of a liquor store in nineteen twenty seven. Shot by the store owner."

For a long moment, Brass wondered if he was hallucinating through lack of sleep.

"Go!"

Startled, Rube looked up from his paper into Sara's face.

"What?"

"I told you Catherine was suspicious! I've just been in Brass' office while they were discussing a Reuben Sofar, killed in nineteen twenty seven. You have to get out of here before they decide to have a little chat with you about paper trails and administrative details that don't match up. If you and George end up in jail, we won't be able to help you."

Rube could think on his feet, and did so, rapidly. With a casual nod to George, he stood up, slowly enough not to cause notice.

"We've hung around enough, peanut. Let's go wait for CSI Willows at our hotel."

George followed his lead and nodded jerkily.

"Ah, sure thing. The hotel."

Sara shook her head.

"Don't go back to your hotel, they have your card, they'll find you. Go hide out at my place; they'll never think to look for you there. Spare key is with my neighbour. Tell her you've come for Schrödinger's cat, it's the code for hand over the key. Now write this address – quickly!"

 Jim Brass and Catherine arrived at the busy Reception area a few minutes later to find the mysterious Rube had vanished.  Just as they were about to leave to try to catch them at their hotel, Warrick came hurrying up the corridor. He was carrying some photographs.

"Nick and I have been going over the camera footage taken by the fire crew incident team and bystanders cell phones. I think you need to see these."

 Brass was about to argue, but Catherine stepped up.

"What is it?"

Warrick placed the pictures in her hands one at a time.

"This guy here talking to Grissom; just as Grissom turns away he touches his arm. You know Gil better than most, would he let a stranger just touch him like that? Here's the same thing, different angle. This other one has Sara ducking under the tape; a young girl just happens to stumble into her right there. See? We need to find these people; it can't be a co-incidence that they're so close minutes before they're killed."

They closely examined the pictures and Brass swore.

"_Christ_."

The police Captain and Catherine exchanged glances. Warrick immediately sensed that he was missing something.

"What?"

"We know them. Until a few minutes ago they were sitting here. I even spoke to the man, Rube."

"They were _here?!_"

Catherine nodded tightly. She was angry that her instincts appeared to have let her down about the stranger with the fingerprint of a dead man.

"Asking about the explosion. Had we made any progress in catching the perps. Also claimed to be an old friend of Gil's, in town to catch up. He also said that he hadn't managed to see Grissom before he di-, before the explosion."

She looked up at the two men.

"We've got to find them. Now. They could be the bombers."

Upstairs, not very far away at all, Bontemps waited until all the stalls were empty before setting out the worker-on-site sign outside the Men's room. He opened his bag and lifted out all the tools. Once empty, he felt around the inner seam for the little tag that lifted out the false bottom of the bag. Underneath, hidden from casual observation was a small block of what looked like children's play putty wrapped in paper. In quick economical movements he inserted the silver bullet-like detonators into the block of explosive and connected all the wires to a timer. Unlike in modern movies the bomb did not having a smart red digital countdown for everyone to be aware of the lack of time for the hero; it was a simple alarm clock timer set to 4am. When the alarm went off, so would the bomb.

Simple.

So much less to go wrong.   

 It didn't take him very long to clear the problem with the blocked drain; the only reason he was bothering at all was so that no-one noticed it was still blocked and called the shop before his 'gift' arrived for Vegas' finest. He couldn't afford to raise any suspicion, as he wanted to make sure he was well out of the way before then.

Somewhere with a good view of the night sky over Vegas. He loved fireworks.

He hummed happily under his breath while he was working.

Grissom gnawed unhappily at his lower lip as he watched Bontemps put the newly armed bomb in a plastic zipper bag before placing it in the wall space behind the toilet. Designed to make the toilet look sleek and clean without the water tank in sight, it was unfortunately also a good place to hide things.

As soon as he had finished, Bontemps cleaned up, packed his bag and washed his hands. Grissom followed him all the way out of the building and watched him get in his car and drive away, powerless to stop him. He memorised the licence plate by repeating it all the way back to the building. Once inside, it didn't take him long to find Sara; she was looking for him.

"Gris, there you are. I have news."

"Yeah, me too. What have you got?"

"Warrick has photos with Rube and George in them, taken just before we were killed. Brass and Catherine have gone to try to find Rube at the hotel."

"But if they're taken into custody, no-one will believe they didn't have anything to do with it; their back stories aren't going to hold up under scrutiny."

Sara nodded.

"Yeah, I know, but it's okay, I told Rube to run and hide. This is no time to be proud. Trouble is, our guys need a Grissom leading them through the clues, and they don't have one. We need to find the real bomber and catch him red-handed."

Grissom gave a small smirk.

"Michael Bontemps."

Sara's mouth nearly dropped open, but she turned it a grin instead.

"How do you do that? Do you have psychic powers now you're dead?"

"Close enough. His failure to make the grade for our CSI team must have bit deep."

"Didn't he bomb on the psych profile?"

Grissom grimaced.

"Unfortunate choice of word, but yes. Totally unsuited to the mental demands of the job and the idea of due process. He would have been making the evidence fit the suspects, instead of using it to establish the truth. We couldn't let him join us; he just wasn't up to the task."

"So now he's getting his own back by trying to kill us off. Who's next?"

Grissom pointed upwards.

"Here. There's a bomb in the men's room, due to explode at 4am."

Sara looked alarmed, automatically looking for the nearest fire point.

"We have to warn them! We can't let them die!"

Grissom looked at the staff and members of the public alike who were walking past them, clearly oblivious.

"I agree, but our options appear to be limited, unless one of these people is a genuine psychic."

"And I sent Rube and George away!"

Grissom shook his head.

"It was the right thing to do. Where are they?"

"My place. Figured no-one would look for them there."

"Good. And bad. Because no-one here is likely to give us an inadvertent ride there either."

Sara looked around the hallway, her hands on her hips, thinking furiously.

"We have to start trying to attract attention with whatever we can do. I did notice that doors move slightly when we mist through them. Maybe we can do something else physical."

Grissom nodded, moving over to Marcie at the desk. He tried to make eye contact, but she was concentrating on her computer screen. Waving his hands in front of her had no effect either, nor blowing on sheets of notepaper beside the telephone. In desperation he shouted.

No response.

Sara moved through two of the doors, managing to move them slightly, but it wasn't enough to attract much attention and it was making her feel a little dizzy.

Grissom frowned.

"If only we could set off the fire alarm, it would clear the building. But we'd have to do it just before the bomb is due to go off, otherwise they'll all pile back inside thinking it was a false alarm."

Sara looked at the clock on the wall in front of the waiting area seats. Less than an hour to go.

Two children, a boy of about twelve and a girl of perhaps four or five were obviously waiting for someone and Sara desperately wanted their parents to come and get them and leave before their lives were cut short.

"Aaaaargh! This is so damned annoying!"

Her scream caught Grissom unawares and he almost jumped. He looked at her, one eyebrows raised, but before he could react further, a little voice stopped him dead.

"Shouldn't shout, shouldn't cuss. Mom gets mad."

The young boy turned to the younger girl, obviously his sister judging by appearances.

"You talkin' to your Barbie again?"

"Nope. She's good, she doesn't cuss. I was talking to the ghost lady."

The boy scoffed.

"You know what mom said about your stories. Ain't no such thing as ghosts."

"Are too."

"Are not."

"Are too! You're just too stoopid to see them."

The discussion was mildly voiced; clearly a conversation that they had had before, but that wasn't what stopped Grissom and Sara in their tracks. They looked at each other, hope making their eyes bright.

"She can hear me! How can she do that?"

"Some studies have shown that it may be that most young children have the ability to see 'fantastic' things, as their brains are open and not limited by what they are told is possible. They grow out of it as they are taught what is 'real' by adults and peer pressure to conform."

Both of them moved closer to the girl, but not so close to worry her. She looked at Sara first, then Grissom, and continued to cuddle her Barbie.

Grissom spoke first.

"Can you hear both of us?"

The girl gave a single emphatic nod but didn't say anything. Sara looked at Grissom.

_Let me handle it._

"I'm Sara, and this is Grissom. What's your name?"

"Lucy Eleanor Weeks."

Sara smiled.

"That's a nice name. Is this your brother?"

"Ahuh. He's David."

David looked at her and rolled his eyes. His daft sister was always talking to that dumb doll. All the ghost nonsense was just that – nonsense, she only invented it so that she could talk to the doll.

He ignored her.

"So, Lucy, you want to play a game?"

Lucy shook her head at Sara. She had been waiting ages for her mom to come back with daddy, and she was getting a little sleepy. Sara looked a little nonplussed.

"No? Well, how about -"

"You want to do something bad, and perhaps get David into trouble?"

Sara glared at Grissom, wondering what he was up to.

Lucy perked up and nodded.

Grissom grinned, both at Sara and Lucy.

"That's good. It would be very naughty to walk over there and press the big red button on the wall _really_ hard."

"Really? And I won't get into trouble?"

"No, no trouble. You can tell the grown ups David thought it would be fun."

After a moment that seemed an age, Lucy slipped off the chair and trotted over to the Fire Alarm. No-one seemed to pay her much attention.

"This one?"

Both Grissom and Sara nodded, trying to convey encouragement instead of urgency.

"That's the one; really hard now. Go on."

Lucy reached up, her small hand just able to get to the alarm. She brought her arm back and swung her fist forward.

Only to have her arm grabbed before it made contact.

"Lucy Eleanor Weeks! What have I told you about touching things that you shouldn't?!"

Sara and Grissom both groaned aloud.

"But Mom, it wasn't my idea. The man said it would…"

Lucy belatedly realised that she was about to get into trouble for more than one thing. Ghosts, touching stuff, getting David blamed and listening to strangers. She was in a heap of trouble.

Sara and Grissom looked at each other.

Lucy wasn't the only one in trouble.

TBC.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: CSI and Dead Like Me are copyright products and not owned by me. No infringement is sought or intended.

Author: hazeleyes57

Title: Out of Time (5)

Rating: K

A/N: After all this time, kudos to you for hanging in there, much appreciated. Fic has to be considered as AU by now, but never mind. Next chapter half written, so shouldn't take so long...

**Out ****of**** Time - ****Chapter ****5**

"Now look here young lady, I have told you -"

"Is there a problem here, ma'am?"

Lucy's mother, Sara and Grissom all stood up at the sound of the male voice.

"No, officer, we're on our way home. My daughter has a fascination with mischief and was about to start some more, but it's sorted now."

Grissom squatted to Lucy's level.

"Lucy, I need you to tell Nicky Stokes something for me, okay? It's really important."

Silent, Lucy nodded, but glanced at her mom.

"Repeat my words to him, real loud. Nicky, bomb."

"Nickybomb!"

Nick Stokes and the girl's mother looked at her in astonishment.

"What?"

Grissom smiled reassuringly.

"Good girl. Evacuate."

"Good girl, e-vac-u-ate."

Sara grinned despite the urgency of the situation.

"Bontemps."

"Bontems!"

"Lucy, stop this nonsense. Come on, we're going home."

Sara could see that Nick Stokes was frowning in concentration.

Grissom willed the younger man to make the connection.

Lucy's mother began dragging her daughter along the corridor and David followed obediently behind.

Lucy twisted in her mother's grip and looked back to Sara. At some level inside she knew that her message was important, but she also knew her mother in this mood. It always happened when dad had one of his 'days' and it wasn't worth getting her even more mad. She looked at the ghost lady with apology.

"I'm sorry Sara."

Nick's head snapped up.

Sara shook her head and smiled as best as she could. It wasn't Lucy's fault and she, Sara, could relate to her difficulty.

Lucy's mother ignored what she didn't want to hear and shook Lucy's hand in hers.

"I should think you are sorry, missy. You know better, young or not."

"Ma'am?"

Nick Stokes' voice halted the woman's progress, but it was clear from her expression that she was keen to get away.

Both Sara and Grissom felt the same surge of hope as Nick closed on the family.

Nick crouched down to Lucy's level, eager not to intimidate her with his height.

"Lucy, I'm Nick Stokes. Now, your Mom tells you it's important to tell the truth, doesn't she?"

Lucy nodded, suddenly shy and half hiding beside her mother's legs. Her free hand slid a thumb into her mouth.

"Okay. You said, 'Nicky bomb', right?"

Another nod.

Stokes was trying to figure out how to ask pertinent questions in front of a skittish mother when the 'subject' wasn't even old enough for full time education.

"Who told you about a bomb?"

"Mistagissom."

Even spoken around a thumb, Lucy's voice was clear enough.

"Mr Grissom?"

Nick Stokes felt the shock move through him like ice water and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. For a long moment he couldn't speak.

"Okay. One more thing Lucy, then you can go home."

He stood up and crossed the corridor to the wall holding the photographs of staff members. Sara and Grissom's pictures had yet to be removed.

"Do you see anyone here that looks like the man who spoke to you about the bomb?"

Lucy's mother reached the end of her tether just as her daughter pulled her fingers free and crossed to Nick's side.

"Wait one darn minute! You can't question my daughter like some common criminal. It's all nonsense; she has a vivid imagination and she's always making up stories. You want to arrest her for daydreaming, fine; try it and I'll sue your ass off. We're going - now!"

Nick ignored the child's mother. He was watching Lucy look at the portraits.

Lucy stopped in front of one picture. She looked at her mother, then the picture, then at Stokes. She didn't say anything, but her eyes slid from Nick's to the picture and back to him. She returned to her mother's side and they left without another word.

Nick didn't try to stop them. He was too shocked to act.

Lucy had picked out Grissom's picture.

_What the hell was going on?_

Grissom and Sara watched Lucy leave. Nicky had stood looking at Grissom's picture for several long moments before returning back to the lab. He shook his head as he walked away.

_It was too fantastic for words._

"Now what do we do?"

"I'm open to suggestions, Sara."

Hands on her hips, Sara looked around her.

"I have none. We're not going to be able to find too many more children here at this time of night, either."

She looked at Grissom.

"We're going to have to get to my place and get Rube."

They both looked at the wall clock at the same time.

Grissom stated the obvious.

"Less than an hour. Cutting it fine."

The fortunate thing about living in a town that never sleeps is that the bus service doesn't sleep either. Both Sara and Grissom boarded the bus from the stop nearest the Criminalistics building. There were several empty seats so they didn't have to worry about being sat upon.

"Is it just me, or do you feel a little wicked about using the bus without paying? It's like playing hooky." Sara glanced at Grissom and grinned. "I imagine."

"Doesn't concern me; I'm dead. There ought to be some perks to the afterlife. No, I was just thinking about Rube's comment; _he_ doesn't make the rules."

Sara nodded. She swiped her hand through the next closest seat. Her hand misted and reformed quickly.

"We can stand and sit on the bus, but we can't hold on to anything."

"That too, but that wasn't what I meant. Rube doesn't make the rules, someone else does. I wonder how far they can be bent. He knows in advance when people are scheduled to die and he can't intervene…"

"So, we get blown up, die, and here we are – on a bus in Vegas, looking for one of the Grim Reaper's helpers."

Grissom's eyes gleamed.

"Exactly. _One_ of the Reapers. Or two, in reality. If there are so many Reapers, how come we have ours imported, mmm?"

x x x x

It took two more hitched rides, but Sara and Grissom made it to her apartment with fifteen minutes to spare. They didn't bother knocking; they just walked through the door.

"Rube? George?"

Rube looked up from reading a paper at Sara's table.

"Finally come to your senses? Ready to go?"

George wandered over, a mug of coffee in her hands.

"Hey."

Sara glanced at her, about to comment on the use of her things, but then realised that it didn't matter anymore. She turned to Rube.

"You need to call Catherine and warn her that there's a bomb in the men's rest room. They have to evacuate the building."

Even before she had finished speaking, Rube was shaking his head.

"No, I can't do that."

TBC.


End file.
